Aftermath I
by Rocky T
Summary: also known as "Command Performance", the final story in "The Lieutenant Series" following "Before The Ice Age"


_Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and all of its characters are the property of Paramount and no copyright infringement is intended._

_Story Notes: This story, which has also appeared under the title "Command Performance", is the final installment of the "Lieutenant Trilogy", following Past Lives and Before The Ice Age . It is strongly recommended that you read them in order. Oh, Jeri Taylor created some of the characters and situations depicted here, but this is not a "Mosaic" retread._

_Acknowledgments: Even more so than for the first two stories of this trilogy, I am deeply grateful to m.c. moose for her insights and assistance._

_Time Frame: first half of the year 2359._   
**AFTERMATH** The silence in the room was palpable. 

Lieutenant Janeway sat perfectly still. She didn't shift position, or let her gaze wander around the room. Instead she remained focused on the only other person present. She wondered how long it would be until one of them broke the silence. 

"It rather defeats the purpose of these sessions if you refuse to say anything, don't you think?" 

Janeway forced herself to smile. "Yes, of course. It's just that I don't have anything to say." Then, before the silence could begin to build again, she went on hastily, "With all due respect, I don't think these sessions are really necessary." She was careful not to let any emotion color her words. 

The counselor leaned forward. "Now that's an interesting statement. Surely you know why you are here." 

" 'All Starfleet personnel engaged in Command training shall undergo periodic evaluations by a trained counselor, both to establish the candidate's psychological profile and to determine any latent effects of said training upon the officer candidate.' " Janeway quoted the directive by rote. 

"Yes, that's the main reason." 

"Only the main one?" she murmured, then realized she'd spoken out loud. 

"Do you feel there is another reason why you should be here, Lieutenant?" 

She felt her control beginning to waver. Damn these prying counselors, forever wanting you to think about your feelings, understand them, wallow in them. Didn't they understand that sometimes it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, that it was impossible to go forward if you were forever looking back? Without thinking, she snapped, "I'm sure Starfleet is taking a special interest in my case." 

"Because...." prompted the counselor. 

"Because of what happened on Tau Ceti," she said, attempting to recapture her neutral tone. 

"You can hardly blame them, can you? The crash of the experimental ship, the deaths of your father and fiancé, your own critical injuries---" 

"All right," she interrupted. "You've made your point. Starfleet wants to make sure I'm not damaged goods." Damn. How had that slipped out? 

"Do you feel that way?" the counselor probed, her deep black eyes focused intently on Janeway's face. 

Take a deep breath. Remain calm. "No, I'm perfectly fine. I just wish that everyone would let me move past it." 

"The only one who can determine when it's time to move on is you, Lieutenant." 

Again, the silence fell. Once more the counselor was the one to break it. "How do you feel about it?" 

Janeway fought down a rising feeling of anger. A voice inside her head was warning her she was about to mess up big time, that she could not afford to give in to petty impulses. Suddenly, she didn't care. "Why don't you tell me? I'm sure you've been very aware of my thoughts and feelings since I came in." 

The counselor looked puzzled. "Now why would you assume that?" 

Janeway laughed mirthlessly. "Come on, Counselor, I'm hardly naive enough to think you wouldn't be using your telepathic abilities," she said, looking pointedly at the other's eyes. 

The counselor allowed herself to smile in return. "You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I'm Betazoid." 

Janeway was momentarily startled. "You mean you're not?" 

"No. And I don't know I would consider it an asset if I were. The important thing is not that _I _understand what you are feeling; it's that you do." 

"Sorry." Let the counselor try to figure out if she was apologizing for getting her species wrong, or for refusing to delve into her feelings. 

"Let's try another tack. You seem to feel it's okay for Starfleet to test the suitability of its candidates, so let's focus on that. Why did you enter Command School?" 

"I want to be a Starship captain." She was careful to keep her voice level. 

"You were already embarked on a rather successful career in science track. Why did you switch?" 

"I decided I wanted to be in command." 

The counselor leaned forward. "Because of anything in particular? What caused you to first think of switching?" 

Janeway looked away, focused instead on the ornate, old-fashioned timepiece on the wall. "It was a suggestion made by Admiral Paris, after an away mission." 

"That's all? You decided to change careers because of something he said after your rescue from Urtea II?" 

Janeway winced involuntarily at the mention of the planet where she'd been incarcerated in a Cardassian prison camp. It was not so much the memory of her capture that disturbed her as the events which took place afterwards. That was when she and Justin had gotten involved.... 

She crushed down the memories and the feelings they evoked, and forced herself to respond to the question. "No, I didn't base my decision solely on that. It took several more months to decide." 

"After you had already turned down a spot in Command School and instead accepted the number-two science position on the _Hyperion_." 

"Yes." 

"And you changed your mind only after the crash of the _Terra Nova_." 

"Yes," her voice sank to a whisper. 

"Do you think there's a connection?" 

Janeway didn't answer; instead she found herself remembering the conversation in which she'd announced her decision to her mother. 

She had come downstairs that morning and steeled herself for her mother's reaction to her appearance. She was not disappointed. 

"Kathryn, you're wearing your uniform," Gretchen said in surprise. 

She tried to keep her voice casual. "That's the recommended attire for all personnel while on duty, Mom." 

"But you're still on medical leave, honey." 

"Not anymore. I'm fully recovered, and it's time for me to go back." 

"Physically, you're recovered, but---" Gretchen paused, then seemed to switch strategies. "Kathryn, you still have more time coming to you. I think you should take it. After all, what's the rush? The _Hyperion_ left on its mission two months ago; your slot was filled." 

"There are other postings. Anyway, I'm reporting to HQ to announce my intention of entering Command School. The next intake class begins in two weeks." 

Gretchen took a few moments to digest her daughter's statement. "Command School? But you're science track." 

"I've decided to switch." 

"I don't understand. You went through this already, last fall. And after considering all the pros and cons, you decided to stay in science." 

"The situation has changed since then. I've changed. This is the direction I want to go now." 

Gretchen reached out and took her daughter's hands firmly in her own. "Honey, I'm not trying to tell you what to do with your life. You've always made your own decisions. But, frankly, I can't understand this. If you'd wanted command, you would have pursued it. Not just last fall; years ago. Science was always your passion. This...." She hesitated, then went on. "This seems like an act of contrition." 

Janeway pulled away on the pretext of pouring herself some coffee. "Don't be ridiculous, Mom." 

"Is it ridiculous?" Gretchen pressed. "It seems like you're determined to do penance. You lost your father and Justin under terrible circumstances, and maybe you feel you should have been able to do something more to save them. But going into command track won't make a difference. There was nothing you could have done to change the outcome of the accident, nothing you could have done to prevent it in the first place. They're gone, Kathryn, and there's nothing you can do to change that." 

Janeway swallowed, yet strove to keep her voice level. "This has nothing to do with them, Mom. This has to do with me, what I feel is best for me. I need to go on with my life, I can't keep looking back. I need a goal, something to focus on. And this is what I want to do now." 

"Oh, Kathryn," Gretchen shook her head sadly. "I think you're still trying to run away, as much as during those weeks when you were lying in bed refusing to get up." 

"Don't argue with her. Let her go." They both were startled by the new voice. Phoebe stood in the doorway of the kitchen. 

Gretchen said, "Phoebe, I'm not sure this is a good idea." 

"It's not your decision to make, Mom. It's Kathryn's. She knows what she needs." 

Janeway looked at her in some surprise. She hadn't expected Phoebe to understand. Under the best of circumstances, things were strained between them, and the last few months hadn't helped. But here was Phoebe, offering her the support she needed. 

"I'm sorry you don't understand, Mom. But this is what I'm going to do. I'm transporting to San Francisco after breakfast." 

Gretchen slowly nodded. "Just remember, Kathryn, you don't have anything to prove. Not to me, not to the dead. And not to Owen Paris." 

Janeway looked at her mother sharply. "What's that supposed to mean? Do you think he talked me into it?" 

"I know he suggested it to you in the past. And he was one of the few people you agreed to see, after the accident." 

"He didn't bring it up then. Give the man some credit, Mom. He was here to offer his condolences." And to hold her hand, tell her she was strong and that she would get through this. But she didn't want to think about that now. 

"I'm going, Mom." She broke of, then turned around suddenly and caught her mother in a fierce hug. "Please try to understand." 

"Oh, I do, Kathryn, I do." 

The counselor's voice brought Janeway back to herself with a start. "I'm afraid our time is up, Lieutenant. Please don't forget to make an appointment for our next session before you leave." 

Janeway permitted herself a small, bitter smile. As if anyone was going to let her forget.   


* * *

Janeway stepped up to the bar and ordered a drink, wishing she were anywhere but here. Hell of an attitude to have at a party, Command School's "getting to know you" party to be exact. Forty command candidates, all training together over the next six months, should become acquainted outside of the classroom and simulation decks, have the opportunity to truly bond together as a cohesive unit. Or so the theory went. 

She surveyed the scene while waiting for her drink to arrive. She knew she should be mingling and making witty conversation. Sitting at the bar alone was not an option, even if all she was drinking was synthahol. She briefly pondered the wonders of Starfleet's drink of choice--gone were the days when one had to worry about imbibing too much, with the loss of control that entailed, not to mention a nasty hangover the next day. With synthahol, one could revert to a stone-cold sober state almost immediately. All that was needed was a jolt of adrenaline, such as might occur naturally, say, during a red alert. She tried to shake the feeling that she'd rather face a battle drill about now instead of this social gathering. 

Time to quit stalling, and go practice her command face. Hopefully, this time she would do a more convincing job than during the counseling session the other afternoon. She was still kicking herself for some of her lapses. Well, they hadn't tossed her out of training, at least not yet. 

She'd picked up the names of some of her fellow students, during the two days of orientation sessions that had been held so far. Most were human, although there was a smattering of aliens, including Vulcans, Bolians, Betazoids and Rigelians. There was even a joined Trill, as well as a green-skinned female, whose carefully nondescript hairstyle and baggy clothing clearly spelled out her anxious desire to dismiss any stereotypes of Orion slave girls. 

The vast majority were newly commissioned Ensigns, fresh from the Academy. There was a handful of more seasoned officers among them, veterans of graduate study programs or a few space missions. Janeway was hardly the only track-shifter among the class, not even the only lieutenant. Although she was definitely in the upper strata, there was a good chance she was not even the oldest member. Not that anyone suspect her of being so; she was aware that she looked much younger than her twenty seven years. 

She tried to shut out the noise of the band playing in the background, as she scanned the immediate area to see if she recognized anyone. It was hard to focus, even more difficult to try to relax. She found herself thinking of the last time she'd been in an official Starfleet social setting. 

It had been right after the conclusion of the _Icarus_ mission. She and Justin had attended the reception together, effectively announcing their status as a couple. It had felt so good to finally be making a statement, after months of discreet behavior, ever watchful and careful of official protocol. Not that they had stayed very long at that gathering; there had been other more important pursuits. And considering how short was the time they had had, she wished that they had never come at all, instead spent every moment they could together, just the two of them. 

But humans weren't gifted, if one could call it that, with foresight. And so they had gone on, believing that they had all the time in the world. They had made plans for their shared lives, as if the many long years that they saw stretching ahead was a given. Less than two months later, he was dead. 

She hated being alone, like this, with only her thoughts for company. At least when she was working or studying she could keep her mind occupied, keep from veering perilously close to self-pity. She purposefully strode towards the nearest group of red uniforms, aware of how well she blended in with them. That in itself was surprising; she was still not used to seeing herself in anything other than science blue. Unwillingly, she remembered that the last time she had worn her old dress uniform had been at the memorial service. 

It had taken place nearly three weeks after the crash of the _Terra Nova_. Along with pieces from the wreckage, the horribly broken bodies of Admiral Edward Janeway and Lieutenant Justin Tighe had been retrieved from the icy still waters of Tau Ceti. They now reposed in sleek duranium coffins, whose shapes were vaguely reminiscent of torpedo pods, Janeway thought absently. Her own massive injuries had healed relatively quickly, a miracle of modern 24th century medicine. Even a hundred years earlier she would have faced months of convalescence to repair the damage of broken bones, internal bleeding and a concussion. Yet here she was, scant days after finally regaining consciousness, standing rigidly at attention while some nameless, faceless Admiral gave the final eulogy for the two men who had mattered most in her life. 

The voice of officialdom droned on, speaking of useless, irrelevant things such as military honor and scientific accomplishments. It spoke of the characters of the honored dead, although Janeway could not find any connection between the words and the vibrant people they were meant to bid farewell to. Where were the important things, like her father's gentle voice, his habit of running his hand through his hair when deep in thought, the way his gray eyes lit up with excitement? There was no mention of Justin's smile, the way his body moved with such grace whether it was at the controls of a ship or holding her close on a dance floor. Or the way he spoke her name, how the look in his eyes could take her breath away. 

She had bowed her head, but it was not to hide the rush of tears. Her eyes were dry, had been that way since she had returned to the land of the living and confirmed what the dark voices in her dream had already told her days earlier. Her mother, at her side, stood regally erect, as befitted the proud widow of a Starfleet officer, but her eyes were suspiciously wet. Phoebe, under no such constraints, had sobbed freely. Janeway didn't know whether she pitied or envied her. 

As they had left the service, she had avoided the curious stares of the other mourners that she knew must be directed at her, her gaze caught instead by the black armband she wore. In a corner of her mind was the incongruous thought that black was such a somber color. The dress uniform already had so much black in it. Was this why her mother had been so resistant to the idea of her getting married in uniform, instead of a traditional white gown? That was when she was next supposed to don this garment, in another eight months, at the end of her ship's mission. And then she and Justin would be married and live happily ever after. Or at least, that was the way it was supposed to be. 

Janeway's reverie was shattered by an especially loud note of music. That wasn't "Taps"; not at all what you'd expect to hear at a funeral. Not like the God-awful bagpipes that played when the Starfleet honor guard had carefully removed the Federation flags draping the coffins, folded them in an intricate pattern and ceremoniously presented one to Gretchen and one to her. She still recalled the rough texture of the cloth as she took it in her icy fingers. 

The noise finally penetrated her consciousness enough for her to realize she was still at the Command School reception, holding the same glass in her hand. How long had she been standing there lost in thought? Maybe she should just go back home. No, not home. Back to the empty apartment which had never had the opportunity to become a home. 

Without really watching where she was going, she turned toward the direction of the exit. Suddenly, she heard a voice call, "Look out!" and barely stopped herself from colliding with someone. She saw to her dismay that she had managed to spill most of her drink on a tall, thin human male with fuzzy light brown hair. 

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," she said, looking around for a napkin. She grabbed a few off of a nearby table and proffered them with an apologetic smile. 

He smiled back. "It's okay. Most of it got on the sleeve. I always thought these uniforms could use a splash of something to liven them up, anyway." He finished scrubbing at his jacket, then held out his hand. "You're Kathryn Janeway, right?" 

"That's right," she said, surprised. He grasped her fingers firmly. 

"I never forget a face," he said proudly, "especially when it's one as attractive as yours. The name's Jack Agress." 

She nodded in what she hoped was a polite manner. 

"Well, Kate, now that we've been officially introduced...." He pulled up a chair and looked at her expectantly. "You don't mind if I call you Kate, do you?" 

"Actually, I prefer Kathryn," she said, hesitating just a little too long before sitting down. His smile faltered for a moment, as if he was used to a more positive response from the women he chose to honor with his attention. 

She looked him over, studying him. He couldn't be more than 22, 23 tops. One of the fresh-outs, so green it was a wonder he wasn't carrying a sign. His features, which were pleasant enough, were set in a casual expression, one that had probably been carefully rehearsed. He didn't exude the same raw physicality that Justin had, didn't have the kind of body language that demanded to be noticed. Agress flinched at her scrutiny, and quickly turned to a smaller man standing nearby. 

"Hey, Garth! How about another round of drinks?" 

"I'm way ahead of you, Jack. Here you go, uh, Lieutenant." 

She found herself looking into a pair of large, friendly brown eyes, which reminded her of a collie her family had once owned. There was no subterfuge here, just a desperate attempt to make some type of lasting impression. God, had she ever been that young? 

"No need to be so formal with Kathryn here," said Agress, "we're all fellow command officer trainees." 

The other man smiled shyly. "I'm Garth Davies." 

She murmured, "Pleased to meet you. Thank you." She took a sip. 

Agress gestured over at the dance floor. "Think Starfleet is using this opportunity to find out how many of us have two left feet and are in serious need of lessons?" 

Davies laughed. "Maybe. As captains, we're not always just going to be fighting battles. We'll have plenty of diplomatic functions to attend as well." 

"Well, you've heard of phaser diplomacy, haven't you?" quipped Agress. 

"Starfleet isn't a military organization," put in a new voice. "Its main goal is exploration." The speaker was a tall dark-haired woman whose neck and forehead spots proclaimed that she was a Trill. 

Agress smiled appreciatively. "You're right about that." He paused, "Wait, don't tell me, your name is...." 

"Mayzie," she supplied. 

"Ah. No doubt short for 'amazing'," he said, pulling up another chair. 

"Actually, it's short for 'Lieutenant Mayzie Beil'." Her smile took the sting out of her words. 

Agress made the rest of the introductions. Beil then turned to Janeway. "So what do you think is Starfleet's primary mission?" 

Janeway was relieved at no longer being the oldest one in the group. Of course, next to a joined Trill, even an octogenarian could be excused for feeling young. She took another sip of her drink before answering, "Oh, I agree with you. That's why I signed up." 

"Did you always know you wanted command?" 

Janeway found herself slightly uncomfortable with the penetrating glance accompanying Beil's question. "No, I started in science track." She felt obliged to continue, "I decided that one day I'd like to be in charge of my own scientific expeditions." 

" 'To boldly go where no man has gone before'," intoned Davies. 

"Oh, please, enough with the Kirk epigrams!" groaned Agress in mock dismay. "You'll have to excuse Garth, he's under the impression that Command School is going to somehow involve six solid months of reading the memoirs of one of Starfleet's most notorious captains." 

"Notorious? Now why would you say that?" questioned Janeway, grateful for the shift in the conversation. 

"Just look at the man's record. How many times did he violate the Prime Directive?" said Agress. 

"Actual violations, or the ones they would have tagged him for today?" Beil said. "Remember, the quadrant was a lot less tame in those days." 

"That's right," chimed in Davies. "You can't judge that era by current standards." 

"Don't get me wrong, I'm the last one to forget Kirk's most important and lasting contribution to modern Starfleet policy," Agress said very seriously. 

"Helping to forge the peace settlement with the Klingons at Khitomer?" 

"Hell, no. I'm talking about the 'Handbook of Interspecies Contact'. I heard it was written with him specifically in mind," Agress said. 

"Oh, come on, Jack," Davies said, rolling his eyes. "Why can't you be serious for once?" 

Janeway unexpectedly found herself supporting Davies. "The original _Enterprise _logs are still required reading for Academy cadets, let alone the postgraduate officers involved in command training. You can laugh about it, but Kirk's missions are analyzed thoroughly in the courses on Command Philosophy as well as on the Prime Directive, and have a great deal of relevance to today's officers." 

Davies shot her a grateful look. Agress shrugged. "Fine. But I'm not too sure what relevance that's going to have for my career." 

"What is your field of specialization?" Beil asked curiously. 

"Command track," he said with a grin. 

"Very funny. You're not going to be granted a command for several more years. You're going to have to serve in some other capacity until you make it to Commander's rank and the XO spot." 

"I'll be spending that time at the helm," he answered. 

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. You fit the pilot profile." 

"Incredibly talented and good with my hands?" 

"Incredibly cocky." She turned to Davies, "How about you?" 

"Operations." Davies paused thoughtfully. "You know, it's funny. Science and medical have always been blue. But in Kirk's day, gold was the color of command, and red was for operations and engineering." 

"Don't forget security," interjected Agress. "Remember those lines about the life expectancy of a 'Redshirt'?" 

Davies smiled despite himself. "Yep. Wonder if that's why decided to change?" 

"Who knows? But somehow, I can't imagine how it would look if everyone here tonight _weren't_ wearing red." 

Their words contained an uncomfortable echo of Janeway's earlier thoughts. She already felt a headache coming on from the strain of trying to smile, look interested, participate in the conversation. It had taken a tremendous amount of effort and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it up. 

She rose abruptly. Beil said, "Where are you going? You can't possibly be thinking of leaving me alone with these two." 

"Thanks a lot," said Agress, with a wounded look. 

"Sorry, but it's been a long day and classes are scheduled to begin pretty early tomorrow morning. Please excuse me." Janeway smiled fleetingly, and made her escape. 

She had gotten nearly to the door when her path was blocked by a bearded individual wearing captain's pips. "It's nice to see you again, Lieutenant," he said to her, smiling pleasantly. 

She looked carefully at the man, who appeared to be in his early forties, trying to place him. He seemed familiar, but maybe he just had one of those type of faces. 

He saw her confusion. "The _Darwin_." 

A light broke. "Captain Victor Garrett. You took on Admiral Paris as a passenger from _Icarus_ and transported him back to Earth." 

Garrett's smile broadened. "Along with a lot of astrometric information your surveys had uncovered. As I recall, you were the science ensign overseeing the data downloads. I see you have since come up a bit in the world." 

There was a time when Janeway would have blushed, but now she continued meeting Garrett's gaze steadily. "Thank you, sir, but now I'm aspiring to being more than just a science officer." She changed the subject. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think already commissioned captains returned to Command School." 

Garrett chuckled. "I haven't been demoted and sent back for remedial work, Lieutenant. I'm one of your instructors." 

"Oh?" She searched her memory once again and this time was more successful. "Yes, I did see your name in the course book. You're giving the seminar on 'Risk Assessment and Decision Making', along with Admiral Gelb." 

"That's right," he said, clearly impressed. "You've got quite a memory. But it's nothing less than I'd expect from a Janeway." 

His reference to her family caught her off guard. She swallowed. "Did you know my father, sir?" she said, and then chided herself for her stupidity. 

"Not very well, no. I did a rotation through his department, oh, years ago. I don't think we exchanged more than a few sentences in the turbo lift, to be honest. But he had the reputation of being a very hands-on type, with a phenomenal memory for details." 

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He seemed to sense her discomfort. "Well, you're clearly on your way out. I won't keep you. Have a good evening, Lieutenant." 

Back at her apartment, she checked the course curriculum on her computer terminal. Yes, Victor Garrett was listed as one of the instructors. On an impulse, she called up his service record. He had done a stint at the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards as a lieutenant. Her breath caught as she noticed something else in his personal data. He was the son of Captain Rachel Garrett, the commanding officer of the _Enterprise-C_. That ship had been destroyed with all hands fifteen years earlier while defending a Klingon outpost on Narenda III from a Romulan attack. Janeway's initial feeling of respect and liking for the current Captain Garrett was enhanced by an odd sense of kinship.   


* * *

  
A week later, Janeway reflected that if all of the instructors were like Garrett, she might not be close to regretting her decision to switch to command track. Unfortunately, Commander Zachary Gilroy was a different sort of man entirely. 

He was a rigid, humorless individual whose attitude was antithetical to everything she had come to believe about Starfleet over the years. Gilroy taught Combat Systems Training as well as Tactical Strategy. The very first day, when he had scrutinized the list of students on his padd, she had the impression he was searching for imperfections. He did not appear to have to go to much trouble to find apparent flaws. 

"Janeway." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Lieutenant junior grade." He had fallen silent, and she knew he was checking her service record to date, at least the unclassified portions which were part of the public record. "Well, I see you got tired of playing Spock, thought maybe it'd be more fun to be Kirk for a change, eh?" 

Her head snapped around instantly. His message was unmistakable. She wasn't sure what response would be appropriate, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Gilroy had already gone on to his next victim. 

Now she stood in the gym together with the other nine officers who comprised the Delta Squadron, giving Gilroy her undivided attention. 

"Physical training is essential for commanding officers," he was saying. "The ship's XO is responsible for leading most away missions and ensuring the safety of the landing party. That's a position all of you will see well before you ever occupy the center seat on your own ship. And although the captain usually commands from the bridge, there will be missions in which he or she will be planetside, and depending on the stability of the local political environments, his situation may be highly variable. His position may even be put at risk. It is essential that he knows how to handle himself in unarmed combat." 

Gilroy's gaze swept the group in front of him; he then appeared to come to a decision. "Janeway, step forward." 

She was less than happy at being singled out so soon. It only confirmed her opinion that somehow she'd already managed to make Gilroy's shit list. She approached warily. "Sir?" 

"We're going to try a little exercise, Lieutenant." The way he pronounced her rank was anything but complimentary. "Defend yourself." Without further warning he moved in quickly, aiming a kick at her ribs. 

She saw it coming and jumped away. Gilroy was much taller than she, probably outweighed her by at least 50 kilos. Her only advantage was the element of surprise. She circled around, looking for a break in his guard. There was none, at least not that she could see. 

She carefully feinted right and at the same time swung left. She was partially successful, got in behind his defense enough to deliver a glancing blow. She was heartened by his look of surprise; apparently he hadn't expected even that much of her. 

She sought to press her advantage, but he was also quick. And very smart. He easily deflected her next blow, and then pressed his advantage of longer reach and greater strength. He tripped her and she went sprawling. She turned the fall into a roll and came springing back up again. This time he backhanded her, and she fell heavily to the floor, jarring her elbow as she did. 

Gilroy immediately turned away and addressed the rest of the class. "You see, physical combat readiness is something that many officers take for granted. You don't expect to be in a situation where you have to defend yourself, don't realize that the safety of your team may hinge on your assumption of physical preparedness." 

Janeway regained her feet. "That wasn't a fair assessment." 

"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" Gilroy seemed surprised at being challenged. 

"I said, that wasn't fair." 

"You were down twice already, Lieutenant. The demonstration is over." 

"That depends on what you were trying to demonstrate, Commander," she shot back. 

He looked at her, amused. "This was only an exercise, Lieutenant. It's not as if this were a real away mission, and your failure put lives at risk. After all, I'm a member of Starfleet like yourself. Although surely you are aware that outside involvement isn't always necessary for people to die." 

She immediately caught the meaning behind his carefully chosen words. He knew, damn him. He knew all about what happened on Urtea II. Tau Ceti as well. There was no mistaking the contempt in his eyes. 

Janeway glared back at him. "You can't just declare victory and walk away and pin my failure on that. Your little exercise isn't over yet," she said. 

She could hear Agress calling her name, but shut out everything but the Commander. She eyed Gilroy intently. She was damned well going to wipe that expression off his face. 

"All right, Lieutenant. We can continue our little demonstration, if you insist." Without any further warning, he was suddenly upon her. 

The pace was a lot faster than before; he was no longer holding back. She welcomed this, was determined to make him have to fight, fueled by a rage she hadn't dreamed existed. But she was overmatched, and after a few minutes, the fact became painfully obvious. For every blow she got in behind his guard, he was immediately there with a counterthrust. He repeatedly struck her jaw, her shoulder, her upper body. Dimly, she was aware she couldn't keep up the pretense that this was a contest between equals. Finally he cut her legs out from under her and she hit the floor with a thud. 

Breathing heavily, attempting to ignore the pain, she tried to get up. "Stay down, Lieutenant. It's over." 

"No." 

With the side of his foot, he smashed her in the ribs. "I said, stay down." 

She shook her head, blind to everything else. "_No_." 

Several more times she attempted to rise, but was struck down each time. At last, she collapsed in a haze of pain. 

As if a spell had been broken, the rest of the students suddenly unfroze. They had been watching in stunned silence. Now Agress and Beil burst forward, quickly followed by Davies. They helped Janeway to her feet, and supported her as she swayed from dizziness. Davies wiped at the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Agress shot a look of anger at Gilroy, but it was another voice that spoke up. 

"I fail to see the logic in your demonstration, Commander. You are much larger and physically stronger than Lieutenant Janeway." It was Solok, one of the Vulcans. "If you had fought against me, it would have been a more equal contest. I further fail to see why you felt it necessary to continue your attack long past the point where it was obvious that the Lieutenant could no longer compete." 

Gilroy was still breathing harshly after his exertions. "_I_ did not choose to continue the fight, Mr. Solok. Lieutenant Janeway could have ended it at any point. Instead, she chose to prolong it by fighting back needlessly." 

"If this occurred during an away mission, I hardly think an officer could end a violent assault by simply giving up," Beil observed quietly. 

"No, but lives are often saved by conceding. A good commanding officer has to weigh the risks and decide if the lives of his people are worth more than stoking his ego by continuing to fight at a clear disadvantage. Whether it's in unarmed combat, or with a full complement of photon torpedoes. 'Never surrender' is a motto for an idiot, not a Starship captain." The condemnation in Gilroy's voice stung more than the blows he had delivered. 

Janeway limped off, so angry she could hardly see straight. She bent over, breathing deeply and attempting to restore her equilibrium. Her friends were still hovering over her. She sought to alleviate their concern. "I'm all right. Thanks, but I'm fine." 

"Are you sure?" Davies asked worriedly. "You took quite a beating." 

"I can manage on my own now," she insisted. 

"I can't believe that jerk can get away with something like that!" fumed Agress. "I thought the days of using physical abuse to mold officer candidates went out in the twentieth century." 

"It's not that," said Beil thoughtfully. "Gilroy isn't just a bully. Oh, he's definitely got a specific agenda. He's there to let us know that each and every one of us have limits--and to push us to our utmost. But there is something more to what he was saying, about knowing when to cut your losses. There's also the fact that not all species we're going to encounter are going to play by our rules of civilized behavior." She hesitated. "I was in security, and I saw my share of violence, particularly in skirmishes involving some of the more aggressive denizens of the quadrant." 

"Are you talking about Klingons?" questioned Davies. 

"No, of course not!" burst in Agress. "It's not the Klingon way to keep kicking someone after they're down. Where's the 'honor' in that?" 

Beil said, "I wasn't thinking of anyone in particular. But there are plenty of other aliens who don't appear to share our codes of combat. Like the Cardassians, for example." 

Agress was ready to concede the point. "What the hell were you thinking anyways, Kathryn? I admit, it was nice to see someone cut Gilroy down to size, or at least try to. But that was damn foolish to keep it going for as long as you did!" 

Janeway sighed. How could she explain it to others when she wasn't even sure she understood it herself? I just wanted him to know I'm no one's victim," she said lamely. 

"Well, you certainly proved that," said Beil. Janeway shot her a look, trying to gauge the meaning behind that statement. 

Finally, they left her at her apartment. Her earlier rage was spent; she was conscious only of an overwhelming fatigue, overshadowing even the throbbing pain of her injuries. 

She headed straight for the bathroom and a dermal regenerator. With slow, careful motions, she stripped off her uniform and looked in the mirror to assess the extent of the damage. It was not a pretty sight. Several large bruises were forming on her arms and legs, as well as one particularly colorful one that spanned the entire right side of her rib cage. Trying to control her shaking hands, she administered the regenerator to each bruise in turn, as well as several small cuts, and then twisted around to see if there were any on her back that she had missed. 

The face in the mirror caught her attention. It was like gazing at a stranger. Her pupils were large and dilated, the irises appearing almost black instead of their normal blue-gray. There were purple smudges underneath her eyes. Most telling, however, was the expression in them. The look was not fear, not anger, not pain. Just resignation and hopelessness. They were the eyes of someone who had given up. For some reason, that hurt more than anything Gilroy had inflicted. 

She filled the tub with hot water and slowly eased herself into it. The sting of the water against the tender, newly reknit flesh brought a   
rush of tears to her eyes. She told herself that was the only reason, lay back in the water and tried to empty her mind. Voices echoed from the past. They spoke of torture, of pain, of physical endurance. And then one voice rose above the rest. Justin's. "_I wasn't going to let them hurt you_." She concentrated on purging it, and the rest of those memories, from her thoughts. 

She must have dozed off, because the chill in the water eventually awakened her. Shivering almost uncontrollably, she toweled herself off, pulled on a pair of old sweats, and climbed into bed. Although she was exhausted, sleep was slow to come. Not that insomnia was a new experience, or had been, since the accident.   


* * *

  
"Have you ever contemplated doing anything to purposely harm yourself?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"I repeat, have you ever considered hurting yourself? It's a simple question, Lieutenant." 

Janeway glanced at the counselor, but, as usual, couldn't glean anything from her expression. She decided to take the question at face value. "No, I have never contemplated suicide." 

The counselor appeared almost amused. "That's now quite the same thing as I asked." 

Janeway exhaled in exasperation. "No, I never tried to hurt myself." 

"How about putting yourself intentionally in harm's way?" 

"I'm a Starfleet officer. Risk is part of our business." 

"Thanks for the catchphrase, Lieutenant, but I'm also a member of Starfleet as it happens, and I can assure you that needless risk is not part of our business. Nor should it be." 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want me to say? God, I hate the way you just hint around and never say what you mean." 

The counselor had an amused look again. "Then it's a good thing you're not a counselor." Her expression changed, her voice became more brisk. "Well, since you asked, I will tell you that Starfleet is a bit concerned at your failure to report for medical attention following your exercise with Commander Gilroy yesterday." 

"Is that so?" Janeway said levelly. 

"Do you have anything further to add?" 

"I am perfectly fine. Additional medical attention was unnecessary." 

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, you are not a doctor. Treating a bruise with a dermal regenerator is not the same thing as checking for tissue damage further below the surface and repairing it if necessary." 

"With all due respect, Counselor, I was in an excellent position to judge just how deep the damage went." She let a sarcastic note seep into her voice. "And I'm sure Commander Gilroy is an expert at controlling the extent of the damage he inflicts." 

She had anticipated running into Gilroy that morning, although she had thought their conversation would go very differently. At the very least, she had expected him to make some reference to her service record and experience with the Cardassians. But he had simply nodded, and asked her how she was feeling, as casually as if he was commenting on the weather. 

The impersonal feel to the encounter irritated her. She realized then that Gilroy didn't care that she understood firsthand what it meant to be on the weak side of a mission. He had wanted someone to help prove a point, and she had obliged all too well. No, to Gilroy she was just another track-shifter with delusions of grandeur about a life in command. The only members of Starfleet who knew anything about her were those whose opinions were irrelevant to her current training, like Admiral Paris, or those who felt their positions entitled them to far too great a say, such as this counselor. 

"I would like to discuss this rage you seem to be harboring. Commander Gilroy's exercise should not have provoked the kind of response it obviously did." 

Time to do major damage control. God, please help her to stop screwing up. All she needed was for the counselor to decide she wasn't quite command material. She took a deep breath. "I don't quite know why I responded the way I did. Perhaps I just felt it wasn't a fair assessment of my abilities. He seemed to be looking for someone to be a victim. I don't think it's a coincidence that he chose the smallest Human in the group. I wanted to show him that I could fight back. Believe me, if this had been an actual mission, I would have responded differently. I think I've shown in the past that I can handle myself in a crisis situation." 

The counselor was silent for a few moments. "Yes, your service record shows you have been in confrontational situations previously and have responded appropriately. You even received a commendation after Urtea II. You understand, Lieutenant, Starfleet has to ask these sorts of questions." 

"Yes, of course I do." 

"There's also the matter of why you never sought counseling after the deaths of your father and fiancé." 

Janeway answered carefully, "During my time on medical leave, I was home with my mother and sister. The three of us were there to listen and help each other through the grieving process. That meant more than any formal counseling session could ever have." 

"All right," the counselor made a notation on her padd. "Getting back to the earlier topic---I want you to think carefully before you respond. Can you honestly say you have never done anything to needlessly risk your life, Lieutenant?" 

Janeway welcomed the chance to collect her thoughts. Wanting to simply give up and not go on living anymore was worlds apart from trying actively to end your own life. Wasn't it? She wondered suddenly if her mother would agree. 

She remembered lying in bed, huddled under the covers in a vain attempt to keep the cold at bay. But no matter how many layers she was wearing, no matter how many blankets and quilts tucked around her, the cold penetrated her bones. She had never felt such mind-numbing cold in her life, had never experienced anything like this before the crash on Tau Ceti. In her mind were confused images of fires, of burning fuselage, of smoke and steam rising from the snowy surface of the planet. Yet how could that be when there was this driving chill which drove everything else away? She didn't remember the events that occurred after the crash, had no recollection of being thrown clear, or of lying in a snowbank which was where the rescue team had found her. 

The first thing she could recall was a steady beeping noise and the dull realization that they were monitoring her life signs. She tried to stir, to let them know she was all right, but it was as if she was paralyzed. Her voice would not work, nor could she move her arms and legs. It occurred to her that perhaps she was blind as well---but that could not be. Too many sense impressions were seeping in under her partly closed lids. She felt herself drowning in the torrent and knew a moment of panic. Another wave of oblivion rose and she surrendered to it gratefully. 

She gradually became aware of a voice. It was clear and distinct, unlike the earlier voices in her dream, which declared that the world had come to an end so there was no sense in trying to swim her way to consciousness. It sounded like her father, yet how could that be? Her father and Justin were both gone forever. 

For some reason she had survived. She should feel lucky to have done so. But she didn't feel lucky. She felt like every part of her was numb, in shock, waiting for the pain to begin and once it had she would never be free of it. She couldn't feel much of anything now, just an awful sense of foreboding, a feeling that a cold weight was waiting to topple on her, smothering whatever was left of Kathryn Janeway. 

The voice that wasn't her father's faded, was replaced by snatches of others. Medical personnel, and a woman's voice that sometimes sobbed and other times rose with clarity, "Why hasn't she regained consciousness yet? Is there something about her injuries you haven't told me? Please, I can't lose her too." She knew that voice; it was her mother. A voice long ago associated with warmth and love, but there would never be any of that for her again, because her father and Justin were dead. They were dead, and only she was left. She drifted back toward comforting twilight. 

Despite her best efforts, she was eventually roused to full wakefulness again. She stared with dull eyes at the hospital room around her. Her mother was there instantly, to hold her hand and help her fight back the demons. Poor Gretchen didn't realize that she didn't want to fight, that she wanted to surrender and not have to keep on struggling, that it would be so peaceful to just give up and let the current take her where it would. 

But Gretchen was stubborn, and made her fight. Within a short time of opening her eyes, Kathryn was made aware of the painful truths that had occurred in the world while she lay in the shadow lands. They cajoled her to move, to begin exercising her regenerated limbs and muscles, and all too soon they discharged her and she was free to go home. Back to a home that would never be quite the same again, back to a world where she no longer belonged. 

Her ship had launched without her. She sat there numbly trying to assimilate this fact, that all the plans she had made were no longer valid. The _Hyperion_ had left without her, she had no assignment to meet, no duty roster to fill. Admiral Paris had visited the day after the memorial service. He had expressed his sympathy, and also his regret that she was now an officer without a ship. He had promised to pull whatever strings necessary to get her back in action as soon as possible. "Be the best thing for you, Kathryn. Work is the answer." She had thanked him for his concerns, her mind spinning like a punch-drunk fighter's, attempting to see what was the best way to go on. She hadn't fully registered Gretchen standing in the doorway, her normally gentle blue eyes snapping fire. 

Owen Paris had stood and excused himself. Gretchen escorted him toward the front hallway. Angry voices drifted back into the room. 

"What the hell are you doing to my daughter, Owen?" 

"What do you mean? I came to offer my condolences. She's strong, Gretchen, a lot stronger than you know. She'll have a tough time in front of her now, but she'll get through this. Mollycoddling her won't help at all." 

"How dare you?" Gretchen's voice contained barely surpressed fury. "You have a hell of a lot of nerve, just showing up here, grandly announcing that even though she almost died, and in the same accident that killed her father and fiancé, she's supposed to just hop back in the saddle again as if nothing happened. She needs time to heal, damn it!" 

"I know that," he said patiently. "But what you don't seem to realize is that Kathryn needs something to focus on now. She's healed in body as much as she's going to be; she needs to concentrate her mind. It's a shame the _Hyperion_ already left, but there are berths on other ships. It's even not such a stretch to consider joining the next intake class at Command School in another two months. But just sitting and brooding isn't going to do her any good." 

"Like you were able to just swing right back into action after your capture and torture by the Cardassians?" 

The admiral's voice was icy. "That's not quite the same thing, Gretchen." 

"Isn't it? Kathryn has been badly hurt, both physically and emotionally, and she needs time and patience and love to work her way through the trauma. Do you begrudge her the same healing that she made damn sure you received?" 

"It's not the same thing---" 

"No, of course it isn't! She was just a newly commissioned ensign when you had her thrown into the lions' den, without ample warning or training! How many shocks do you think she can handle now?" 

"She made it through the incident on Urtea II just fine, Gretchen. Don't underestimate her." 

"And it was no thanks to you! But now she's hurt, and emotionally battered, and she is going to have the opportunity to put herself back together, without any interference from you, or the rest of Starfleet Command." 

"Who are you really angry at, Gretchen, me or Edward?" 

There was an ominous silence. Finally, her mother spoke. "You've said what you came to say, Owen, and now it's time for you to leave." 

The front door groaned open. "Children have to grow up sometime, Gretchen. You can't shelter and shield her forever. When she is ready to face her life again, Starfleet will still be waiting. And so will I." The door slammed behind him. 

"You have a hell of a lot of nerve," her mother seethed, her footfalls echoing in the hall. Gretchen stopped abruptly in the doorway. From the look on her face, she was plainly concerned that her daughter had overheard the conversation with Paris. 

Janeway was still sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around herself, shivering violently. The voices in the other room had carried quite clearly. They were talking about what was best for her, as if she was a child or invalid, incapable of taking care of herself. Strangely enough, she couldn't summon up any anger or indignation. All she felt was a tremendous sense of exhaustion, overwhelming everything else. 

"Kathryn? Honey, are you all right?" 

She roused herself with an effort. "Yes, Mom." 

"Why don't you go lie down for a while, dear? Dinner won't be ready for about another hour." 

She rose to her feet. "I think I will. I feel so tired." She climbed the stairs slowly, feeling Gretchen's gaze bore into her back. 

Her mother recounted later that she failed to realize Kathryn was falling into a dangerous pattern of behavior. At first Gretchen thought the fatigue was simply a side effect of her physical injuries and healing process. She eventually realized that her older daughter had been spending much too much time sequestered in her room. To her chagrin, the realization was forced upon her by her younger daughter. 

Phoebe looked up as her mother re-entered the kitchen, carrying a still full bowl of soup. "Will Kathryn be joining us for lunch?" she asked mildly. 

Gretchen deposited her burden on the counter. "No. She's asleep. I decided not to wake her." 

"What? Mom, she's been sleeping for over 14 hours already!" 

"She's very tired." Gretchen kept her back turned as she busied herself at the stove. 

"Tired, my ass! Mom, I've been home for two days and I highly doubt Kathryn has been awake and alert for more than two or three hours at a stretch in all that time. This isn't normal behavior." 

Gretchen sighed. "She received quite a shock, the trauma of the accident. I don't think she's quite over it yet---" 

"Physically? Mom, she's perfectly fine. Emotionally, that's another story. She's a mess and she needs help." 

"Everyone copes differently, Phoebe. You can't hold your sister up to your own standards for recovery." 

Phoebe grabbed her mother's arm in alarm. "Mom, do you hear yourself? You are actually suggesting it's normal for Kathryn to be spending upwards of 18 hours a day in bed? It's been three weeks since the memorial service, three weeks, and instead of making any forward progress, she's in worse shape than she was the last time I was home. How can you not see what's going on?" 

Gretchen swung around to meet her daughter's accusing gaze. "I am aware of what's happening. Kathryn's totally devastated, Phoebe. In one moment she lost everything that had any meaning for her, and I meant it when I said she's in shock. If we try to force her out before she's ready, I don't know what good it'll do." 

"When she's ready? How do you know she is ever going to be ready? Do you know what I think? She's hiding. She is never going to be ready to face her life again as long as you keep giving her a nice safe alternative." Phoebe broke off, then continued more gently, "Mom, don't let your own grief blind you. This has gone on for far too long." 

Gretchen was silent for a long moment, her head bowed. Phoebe couldn't be sure she didn't see the glitter of tears. 

After a while, Gretchen took a deep breath and looked up. She watched Phoebe take a serving pitcher over to the freezer unit, plop in a large number of ice cubes, then head over to the sink. "What's that for?" 

Phoebe spoke up to be heard over the sound of the running water. "To get Kathryn's attention." 

"God forgive you for what you're about to do to your sister," Gretchen said slowly. 

Phoebe headed toward the stairs. "God can wait. The only one I give a damn about right now is Kathryn." 

Her mother couldn't keep the wry note out of her voice. "Don't count on her forgiving you any time soon, either." 

"I don't care if she tries to murder me---at least then I'll know we've got her back safely in the land of the living." 

Murder was too strong a word, Janeway reflected now. It implied a great deal more energy than she actually had at the time that Phoebe unceremoniously dumped the contents of her pitcher over her head. 

She had launched herself at Phoebe, grabbed at her, and the two of them had gone down in a welter of bed clothes and skittering ice cubes. Even if she had been able to avoid the earlier icy shower, now they were both rolling around in the soggy mess, amid screams and sobs. 

"You maniac! What the hell are you doing? Mom! Does Mom know what you're doing?" 

"Yes, and she most definitely approves." 

"I don't believe you." 

"She's just as worried as I am over what you're doing to yourself, Kathryn. You're slipping away from us. We had to do _something_ to pull you back." 

"You have no idea what I'm thinking or feeling now, Phoebe." She scrambled to her feet. "Who are you to judge me and how I'm coping with what's happened to me?" 

"You aren't the only one who suffered a loss recently, Kathryn. Yes, you lost your fiance, but Mom lost her husband, the father of her children who she's spent the last thirty years with. And you lost your father, but so did I! _You_ were with him when he died. As usual, you got to be with him. Did you ever stop to think what I lost? At least you had a relationship with Dad. At least you knew how much he loved you and how proud he was of you!" 

Kathryn was stunned into silence. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered. "I never realized you felt this way. I didn't know you were jealous of me or my relationship with Dad." 

Phoebe raised red and swollen eyes. "I never meant to tell you. Oh, Kathryn, I don't resent you for what you had. I just wish I could have been as close to him. And I don't want you to think I begrudge you the time to mourn. But you've taken it too far. You're slipping away from us now. It would kill Mom, to lose you too, and it would also kill me." 

When Janeway had finally made her way downstairs, she was overcome with guilt at the flash of relief in Gretchen's eyes, guilt over having put her through more of an emotional wringer than she'd already experienced. Tempering the guilt was a feeling of relief of her own as she hugged her mother tightly; perhaps everything wasn't gone after all. 

The next several days were almost impossible. The time dragged slowly, yet Janeway couldn't concentrate on anything, couldn't find a way of filling the empty hours. She didn't have the energy or stamina for anything physically demanding. She couldn't even focus her mind enough to read. 

Nighttime was the worst. If she had been in a state of exhaustion earlier, unable to ever sleep enough to sate her body's craving, now she could barely get any rest at all. Never a deep sleeper, she found herself tossing and turning for hours before finally achieving a light doze, only to snap out of it instantly at the whistle of the wind outside or the creak of a board inside the house. It was as if she was being punished for the weeks she had tried to lose herself in the arms of Morpheus. 

One snowy day she felt she was going to lose her mind if she stayed indoors another moment. Not that the storm outside was all too inviting. There were too many uncomfortable similarities between the wintry Indiana countryside and the icy still plateau on Tau Ceti. But staying indoors was impossible. 

Phoebe had offered to come with her, had only reluctantly conceded that her own bad head cold precluded her joining her. Perhaps Phoebe had suspected Kathryn would try something, would attempt to harm herself. The thought of just laying herself down in the snowy expanse, giving up the struggle, was undeniably attractive. But she could not consciously think of doing that, could not envision what that would do to her mother. So she had told herself she was just going for a long walk, trying to work off some of her restlessness, maybe even lose some of the demons which continued dogging her every move. But due to her prolonged inactivity, her endurance had been weakened, and she had gone out much farther than was wise. 

_God looks after fools and small children_, her mother had often said, and Janeway found evidence of that this afternoon. She had stumbled across a poor, lost slip of a pup, freezing to death in the storm. She had picked it up, cushioned it from the worst of the wind under her coat, and set about bringing them both home to safety. In the corner of her mind she wondered though, if she hadn't found the puppy, would she have eventually made her way back home? She would never know. 

A few nights later, Janeway stood in the kitchen with her mother as they tidied up after supper. Janeway was drying the dishes and placing them carefully in the cupboard. At her feet, the dog, now called Petunia and quite recovered from her ordeal, was sleeping peacefully. Suddenly, a twig crackled in the fireplace. The noise startled the puppy, who began to whimper. 

Janeway bent down and gentled the animal, marveling at how quickly Petunia was soothed into forgetting her troubles. She fought the sudden rush of tears and looked up to see her mother's eyes upon her. 

"Oh, Mom, why does it have to hurt so much?" she asked despairingly. 

Gretchen's hands never paused in her task. Her voice was steady as she replied, "Sometimes the pain is how we know we're still alive." 

The words echoed in Janeway's mind now, as she faced the counselor. She said aloud, "No, I would never needlessly risk my life." 

"That's good to know, Lieutenant. Starfleet has too much invested in its command candidates to stand by and watch them squander the most precious of resources." 

end of Part I 

Part II 

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